


my house of stone, your ivy grows

by storm_dog_pirate



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Multi, These are just drabbles, in no particular order, just a series of scenes and moments we've been able to think of lahsfdkl, more Triumvirate goodness and chaos, mostly headcanons, or the stolen moments during those three years in between
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28027941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_dog_pirate/pseuds/storm_dog_pirate
Summary: The stolen and unseen moments of the young King of Ravka and his confidantes, especially his general, during the three-year gap between the Trilogy and King of Scars.
Relationships: David Kostyk/Genya Safin, Nikolai Lantsov & Genya Safin, Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky, Tamar Kir-Bataar & Tolya Yul-Bataar, Tamar Kir-Bataar/Nadia Zhabin, Zoya Nazyalensky & Genya Safin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	1. Talk Down

Kings never backed down from anything. Even in a life and death situation, if it meant saving their country, they would always put it first before themselves. But in Nikolai’s case, a shred of doubt bloomed in his chest. This wasn’t usual for him.

Her blue eyes stared him down— _ down _ —and they were unwavering, ruthless. He figured she really lived up to that title. If it were someone else, he wouldn’t have any qualms fighting back. But under her gaze, he found himself shrinking back, if only for a bit. He felt challenged. The other people in the room seemed to hold their breaths.

“There is no room for sentiments,” Zoya said, her voice holding authority of a leader. Even as she sat from across the table, he could feel the tension coming from her. The Triumvirate—consisting of her, Genya, and David—had just been established at least six months ago. But they seemed to have been trying to save this saints’ forsaken country with him for longer than that. “If we don’t act now, they would push through Halmhend as if it was some playground to trample with. I am quite sure you wouldn’t want that,  _ Your Highness. _ ”

She spoke of his title like it was some front for something weaker underneath, and considering his current state, he supposed that it might as well have been true. 

_ Nikolai nothing. _

He shook his late brother’s voice out of his head. “We need more time.”

“That, we don’t have,” she continued on. “Our country is still divided, and it would only continue to be if we let our enemies push through our borders.”

“We are not letting our soldiers march to their deaths, Nazyalensky,” he said, mustering all the authority in his voice to match her own. “They are  _ not _ ready.”

Her smile was almost kind if it weren’t for the fire in her eyes. “When  _ he _ took advantage of manipulating the Sun Summoner and waged a war within his own country,” she said, still refusing to acknowledge their greatest enemy’s name, “were  _ we _ even ready?”

Cold dread washed over him, and suddenly, none of them spoke. Genya had gone expressionless, her hand twitching on the table. David looked up from his book for once. Tolya, who usually sided with his decisions, looked unsure. Tamar turned her gaze to Nikolai, eyes expectant.

The image of blood and bodies and chaos flashed before his eyes as his mind played the memory of that one morning in the Grand Palace. The day of his own birthday. He remembered the Second Army, almost wiped out in just a blink. 

And he had left them to fend for their own.

Nikolai looked back at each of them. They all went and fought through the same war just as he did. They could have easily resigned from their designations once things got worse and worse. But they still chose to stay and help drag their country out of the mud it had been stuck in for the past centuries. 

Perhaps he should give them more credit. Besides, all of them were barely in their adulthood, and yet they already had so much on their plates. 

“One month,” he said with finality. He stared right through Zoya’s eyes. If she wanted to protest about his decision, she didn’t voice it out. “Until then, do everything you can to train the Second Army. I will see to it that the First Army is ready to march with them as well.”

Her jaw was set when she raised her chin. “As you command, Your Highness.”

With that, Nikolai leaned back in his chair, feeling more exhausted than he had been for the past week. There would be much more of these in the near future, and he could only hope that they would still be with him in the upcoming years.

For now, they had to take back Halmhend.


	2. Weather the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king and the Second Army instructor have yet another argument.

Zoya's boots crunched in the snow as she tore through the crowd of bustling soldiers in the camp. She ignored the curious stares she got from the First Army men, her mind focused on one thing that was driving her feet faster. 

_ The King is an utter fool _ . 

She grit her teeth as another wave of annoyance hit her, threatening to make her lash out at anyone around. If it weren't for the hushed chatter of a few Grisha from the other side of camp, she wouldn't have known that he was  _ here _ . 

_ Didn't you hear? The King came along with the First Army to lead the attack in the left flank.  _

_ We would have lost the bigger part of the boundary if it weren’t for their surprise attack.  _

_ He wouldn't have been recognized if his disguise hadn't faded.  _

_ It was actually a good cover, but I would have recognized the redheads among our men _ . 

Her jaw twitched, the wind picking up around her. She breathed deeply and calmed her powers. But the coldness only became worse. Annoyance had already clouded her reason. The wound in her right arm stung, and she was sure it had opened again, but she didn’t bother checking on it. 

Zoya should have known he would pull off something like this. If she had, she would have chained him up in his chambers and locked him in there. She figured she had underestimated his stubbornness. 

Ahead, the biggest tent that she recognized as the makeshift infirmary loomed, with people coming in and out restlessly. A small part of her worried that the King could be one of the wounded inside, but her irritation told her there was no way he would be there if he just hadn't come.  _ That idiot _ . 

She was almost by the tent flap when a familiar figure emerged from the inside. 

"Well, isn't it the Commander?" Tamar was smiling brightly as she approached Zoya, completely unaware of her inner turmoil. Behind her, Tolya came out from the tent as well. They were unharmed, at least, and Zoya felt relieved at that. But unlike his sister, Tolya’s face looked grim at the sight of Zoya. 

She appreciated the tall man's ability to read facial expressions.

"I still can't believe—" 

"Where is he?" Zoya cut her off, voice low. 

Tamar went silent for a moment. Then she sighed, her smile fading. "He insisted," she said, shaking her head. “I would have locked him up if he hadn’t become all too authoritative.”

“Then you should’ve tried harder!” Zoya’s voice rose. Some of the soldiers stopped to listen, and she fought the urge to berate them about being nosy and to mind their own damned business. “Do you realize the danger you let him walk into?”

“Woah, Commander.” Tamar straightened, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she had been challenged to a duel. “Just because you go against him doesn’t mean I would too.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Unlike you, I am loyal to the throne. You could—”

Tamar stopped abruptly, and Zoya’s anger flared. The winds howled atto her will. “Go on. I  _ dare _ you,” she said. Thunder cracked in the sky despite the snow, making Tamar flinch slightly though she immediately regained composure and set a hand on one of her axes. Zoya knew she would regret this later, so she tried to calm herself down. But something inside her had been ticked, and the rage just overwhelmed everything. “Go on. I could  _ what _ ?” 

It was then Tolya stepped forward and got in between them, his towering form almost intimidating Zoya.  _ Almost _ . “Alright, that’s enough, you two,” he said, his deep voice more gentle than she had expected. He looked at her, then turned to his sister. “Let’s not do this now, or ever, if you may. We’ve all had a rough fortnight, and besides, we have a victory to celebrate.”

A tense silence washed over them, neither of them wanting to back down just yet. But Tolya's words seemed to get to them because their stances slacked, Tamar letting go of her axes and Zoya willed the wind to calm down around them. 

The people around them were still watching, so she sent a glare to their way that had them scurrying back to whatever it was they were doing. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  _ Not the time to lose control _ . 

"Where is he?" she asked again. Her voice was much gentler this time, though it took all she could to make it sound like that. 

Tolya inclined his head to the side. "There, by the edge of camp near the cliff," he replied. “He went there just now.” 

Zoya turned to the direction he was pertaining to. True enough, she could make out a small figure through the still falling snow. 

"Let me guess, he wanted to be alone this time?" she said, tone a bit mocking. The King was out in the open, and he didn't even care about the worst case scenario. "Out there in the open? Good saints." 

She didn’t let them say anything else as she stomped over her king. The title sounded funny to her, with the way he was acting. He definitely had to live up to his name if he wanted the people to trust him. Or if he wanted  _ her _ to trust him.

Lantsov was in a First Army soldier’s uniform, the olive drab looking black against the weather. The golden double eagle on his shoulder indicated an officer’s—a Major—rank, and Zoya was left wondering how he had gotten such a high place in the military despite being young. 

He was near now, and if he noticed her, he didn’t acknowledge her presence. Zoya was already ready to call him out had he not moved and buried his rifle in the snow in front of him, its stock pointed upwards. She stopped in her tracks. Her eyebrows furrowed as she watched him take off his helmet and put in on the gun, along with a bunch of tags he was holding. There was a long silence, nothing but the sound of the wind could be heard. His head bowed, letting his hand linger on his helmet, and then he was standing straight again, the poise and stance of a well-respected leader.

She eyed him for another moment, noticing the slump on his shoulders as he clutched at the tags on the helmet, and she was left wondering who owned them. Were they his friends? Mere soldiers he wanted to grieve for? The questions lingered in her mind, but she didn’t voice them out. 

Another beat passed, and then he trained his eyes forward. “Come to give me an earful, haven’t you, Nazyalensky?” he said, a rueful smile on his lips. If it were some other time, Zoya would have sympathized with him. But now she was just angry. “Worry not, I think I deserve it, anyway.”

Zoya almost laughed. “I am indeed glad you know your mistake, Your Highness,” she said. She considered her next words, but she couldn’t find a way to make it lighter. “You should not have been here.”

Lantsov huffed incredulously, as if he were insulted. “And what, my dear Squaller? Sit back pretty on my throne and watch as my men give their life to the country  _ I  _ have sworn to protect?” 

“As much as I hate to break it to you and your ego,” she said, “it is the only way for you to be able to protect Ravka.” She stepped closer to him to emphasize her point. “You have to  _ live. _ ”

“I don’t think watching your people do things for you could be called living.”

“You fool,” Zoya said through gritted teeth. “You’re missing the entire point. You’re the  _ king.  _ If you died in battle, who would have replaced you? Some distant relative who had no care to the throne? A pretender? The Triumvirate?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve chosen us to steer this forsaken country alongside you, so don’t try to make any more reckless decisions that would lead to the nation’s  _ and _ your own demise.”

Lantsov became silent, a flash of hurt passing over to his face. It was gone in a blink, and Zoya questioned herself if she had just imagined it. His expression became stoic, the usual one he gave when he was wearing the mask of the monarch again, instead of a boy that had too much on his shoulders.

“Sometimes I wonder if you knew how it felt like losing people close to you to this country,” he said. His eyes were hard, grief-stricken, and she realized that he had been through wars too, just like her and countless others. “Maybe then you would realize why I am willing to put my life on the line.”

“We all lost people. And don’t you dare tell me that I do not know how it felt like,” she said. Her aunt’s kind smile flashed before her eyes. She blinked the image away. It wasn’t the right time to grieve, but the pain of losing her rekindled in her chest. “Because I do.” She paused, mustering up her strength to speak. “The only difference is that I don’t let grief consume the logical part of my mind.”

She expected Lantsov to get angry, or leave, or even remove her from her post. But he just smiled ruefully. “No,” he said. “The only difference is that I am a royal and I am not permitted to die. Even if I wanted to save them, I couldn’t. But  _ you _ could.”

Zoya stilled. The words hit like knives to her heart, and suddenly she was fifteen again, crossing the Fold on her own in hopes to see her aunt again. But she never got to her in time. 

She tried to shove the memories away, but it kept flooding. Her aunt and her niece weren’t just the ones who perished in the war barely a year ago. Sergei, mutilated by the Darkling’s  _ nichevo’ya _ . Harshaw, struck by a bullet to the chest. Fedyor, thrown from the roof of the Little Palace and down to the waiting monsters. Marie. Paja. And countless others. Friends and companions, lying dead in the pool of blood in the hall they had been staying before the attack happened. 

She had seen the Second Army on the brink of annihilation. He was aware she had been through the same war, and yet he still asked her if she knew how it felt losing people? 

Her eyes stung, fists clenched. Her hands twitched at her sides, ready to summon the winds and even lightning to her will if it meant making her point to the king. But she chose not to. It would only make things worse.

Zoya breathed deeply, letting her anger pass before she spoke again. She hated this. She hated herself. But above all, she hated him because he was  _ right _ . 

She knew to herself she wouldn't have sat back too, waiting until her people made a difference. No, she would be with them and fight alongside them, and try to see the change with her own eyes. 

But she wasn't the leader of Ravka, and she never would be. So she would do everything she could to protect its king, even from him himself and his own foolishness. 

She straightened then, slipping her own stoical mask on her face. “That may have been the difference, Your Highness, but I am not the one who chose your fate. It was you alone, and you would stand up to it.” She started to turn, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. “And your fate is to live. For Ravka.”

With that, Zoya left the king standing on his own in the cold, the weight of her own words heavy on her shoulders. But she locked them away and continued on. She only did what she knew was right.

_ For Ravka _ .


End file.
